ANDROS: On Nakedness and Masculinity

Between a Rock, a Hard Place, and Two Naked Strangers

Last year I traveled to Vienna on a solo trip, during which I visited the ALBERTINA museum of art for no particular reason other than it was free for students. The first thing I noticed upon entrance was the presence of multiple security guards. They were stationed at every possible entrance to the exhibition marked by black curtains, and when I approached them to enter, they sternly informed me of two things: I was not able to bring my bag into the exhibition, and I was required to keep my phone sealed in a plastic bag for the duration of my visit. Sure, the strict security policy was unusual, but I figured it was the fault of another attempt to throw a can of soup at a piece of priceless art. But the phone policy? I couldn’t put my finger on it. Regardless, my interest was piqued. I would find that my questions would find answers quickly – because when I was permitted to step behind the black curtain, the room was filled with dozens of naked people. Real, buck-naked individuals. 

The exhibition was featuring works by Marina Abramović, who you might know from her audacious performance-based work Rhythm 0 (1974), where Marina herself invited participants to do whatever they wanted with her using a variety of objects. In a similar vein, this exhibition allowed for live interaction with real, nude models. But the piece of most interest to me here was Imponderabilia – where two actors of the opposite gender stood facing each other within a narrow doorway. The kicker was, visitors had to squeeze themselves through the models to get to the next part of the exhibition. As you did so, a choice had to be made: to either face the naked woman or face the naked man. Everyone I observed chose to face the woman. 

It’s not difficult to explain why this was. To sum up what cultural analysts have expressed at length, we’re far more likely to encounter full female nudity over male – rendering us more comfortable around the female figure. However, I want to shift the microscope away from women’s bodies (where it tends to stay), and focus on male bodies. 

Masculinity and its Struggling PR Battle

Societally, we have been turning away from masculinity. As traditional gender roles and depictions have begun to be reconstructed and regarded more fluidly, so have our cultural attitudes towards masculinity – and by extension, the male figure. As art curator, Vratislav Maňák wrote, the male body once “…symbolized the the strength and beauty of the universal man as well as his authority, thus also affirming male primacy in the social hierarchy.”

What masculinity, or the male figure, once had stark claim over, it no longer claims alone – rendering it an inadequate tool for defining man. This concept tends to vary in degree across generations, my own being very open to this idea. “Masculinity, to me, is an energy and not something that can be encapsulated in just body parts. It’s something that lives within people,” a friend of mine said on the subject. Therefore, if the male body can no longer represent masculinity in its purest form, then what is its new role within art and culture? This is the central concept behind ANDROS, the newest exhibition at DOX, where the male body as a perfect symbol of masculinity is questioned and scrutinized. 

Two Sides of Discourse, the Same Coin

I’m not a man, so I’m not going to write as if I know what it’s like to be a man. However, as I have witnessed these cultural shifts in real time, I also know some men are struggling to cope. In fact, many of them are choosing to hold on to masculinity tighter. This is particularly evident in online circles like the “manosphere”, where groups of men respond to the shift in gender dynamics by adopting an exaggerated form of masculinity – often by asserting their superiority over women. But as Maňák wrote, by reducing man to his most basic form, he is not restored to harmonious completeness, but rather a hyperbole of himself. This is illustrated throughout the exhibition in works by artists like Jan Uldrych and Andrej Dúbravský, who portray these reductions of man as grotesque creatures – barely recognizable as human. In their work, “A monster is born, striving to be stronger, more complete, and more masculine than man himself.”

The branding is neat. Too neat.

All this to say, as we question, redistribute, and reconstruct masculinity it’s become more difficult to define what it means to be a man. Perhaps this is a good thing to acknowledge – as the true nature of human beings is rarely definitive. However, that doesn’t mean we don’t try to simplify where we can. On the other side of the manosphere discourse, is one which has taken the role of policing masculinity – diminishing it in a different manner. “The online appetite for male failure has morphed from justice into genre,” Substack author Tamara wrote on the subject, “We have reduced entire psychosexual histories to hashtags: weaponised incompetence, toxic masculinity, emotional unavailability. The branding is neat. Too neat.” 

It’s difficult to blame the people who hold this view – as most of them are women who have lived the experience of existing in a world where men hold the cards. But as explored in ANDROS, to reduce something to its simplest form is not to make it pure, but fragmented. Believing that men are “failing hardware to be discarded” demonstrates a lack of confidence that men are worth our attention as human beings. It’s the “boys will be boys” excuse repackaged as pseudofeminism. And what ANDROS showcases so well, is that the beauty we find in simplicity is often an illusion. The more we view masculinity as a concrete, unchanging concept, the more we risk misunderstanding it, and ultimately discarding it. “Masculinity is not the enemy,” wrote Tamara, “But our reduction of it – our unwillingness to let it evolve beyond caricature – is.”

I find it ironic that a generation marked by its openness to a new way of viewing gender can also be so hostile and prejudiced. For that reason, it’s impossible to advocate for this position without feeling like I am betraying my sisters – that I’m being a “pick-me” or not “a girl’s girl”: someone who values the approval of men at the expense of fellow women. But is this not just another way of labeling women in relation to men? In our collective attempt to “decenter” men from our lives, it often feels like we end up back where we started. In other words, I’m sick of this gender war my generation frequently partakes in. It’s tit-for-tat and childish. It’s escalates the isolation and division we already feel. And more importantly, it makes us less likely to be vulnerable at the risk of being misunderstood. 

The Price of Nakedness

“Showcasing bodies in this way is redundant and reductive,” a friend of mine said after the exhibition. “We (men) possess vulnerability when being ‘the other’. So when we are no longer who we’re ‘supposed’ to be, what ought we become? This exhibition doesn’t have the answer.” I believe he’s right. By showcasing the male body with the absence of personhood, we expose the ideological burdens we have placed on its shoulders – expecting change from men but refusing to let go of our oversimplified caricatures of them.

In the same vein, nakedness frequently represents vulnerability, but as my friend pointed out, it also represents reductive simplicity. I felt this as I brushed up against those two bodies in Vienna – sheepishly and apologetically. I felt the weight of these individuals’ exposure as well as their stoop to something subhuman. This is the real paradox that ANDROS depicts: in our barest form we find beauty, but we lose aspects of our humanity.

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